


Every letter I sent you.

by nabicnvs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, The 90's, Transylvania/Romania and later Russia setting, ballet dancer!Jaebeom, band!au, creepy traditions, different religions - Christianism and Adventism, excessive winter, mentions of depression, post-communism, religion talk and practice kinda, the religion thing is not extremely relevant but there is some religion talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nabicnvs/pseuds/nabicnvs
Summary: Growing up, leaving home and rebelling against his religion doesn't bring Jackson much apart from a miserable life in a now communism-free country. Still, the traces are there, reflected in the conceptions and misconceptions, written all over the soviet blocks and even painted on some of Sungjin's features. Life hits, sometimes one or the other and Jackson can't help but being there for his bandmates, for his best friends, all while trying his best to unlearn the smell of pressed flowers and the hand movements of foreign alphabets.Jackson feels like God has let go of his hand. Helplessly, he watches his best friend finding a muse like a God, and feels unloved as the ones around him slowly find the meaning of the demon called love. For Jackson it's just a coincidence after an accident, and he is ready to make a very bad decision as he cannot let go of that beautiful piece of his past.featuring a messy rock band, a punk fairy and a black swan.
Relationships: Baek Yerin/Park Sungjin, Im Jaebum | JB/Jackson Wang
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	1. 0. pressed flowers and foreign alphabets

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning are in the tags, so if anything bothers you, maybe this is not for you.
> 
> highly inspired by [yerin's masterpiece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoXrZsXyYMw).

Thumb slipping underneath the two white sheets, skin trying to tear them apart as to be able to get to the secrets kept in the middle of it. As water boils, the thumb is ripping at the part where the whites are kissing for the last time.

Triangle in the air, foreign alphabet written in black ink over such a thin white paper. It looks and feels wrong that the man cannot help a long sigh.

His cup clinks once, forcing him to watch as hot water is being poured in it. Then half a spoon of sugar is mixed, and the clinking lasts for longer moments as the liquid becomes colourful. He knows he can’t touch it now, so, instead, he leans his head to the side only slightly, and lets the foreign difformed paper in his hand hit the air a few times. Just to catch his son’s attention, as he intended to. 

Only when his son snatches the envelope from his hand in an unceremonious manner, does he realize his little Jackson is all grown up now. Just a few more months and he’ll fly away like a bird, which is so hard to swallow. Perhaps it hit him when they discussed the letters for the first time; or maybe it was that time when Jackson articulated his desire to apply to an Arts College instead of the grand University in the capital. 

And he didn't even want to major in piano, as his parents may have expected. No. He said he already chose to study guitar, because he liked it better. Which was… unexpected. 

They don’t know their child so well, after all, Mister Wang realizes as he watches Jackson take out of the envelope a few pressed flowers. Smiles at them as if they make him happy. He never imagined he would feel so disappointed as watching his son sketching a smile. Or perhaps he wasn't the great father he thought he was. 

“I’m going out later.” Jackson announced, not even asking for permission. Just stating so as not to worry. 

“On a Saturday? It’s the seventh day, Jackson.” 

“Am I not allowed to meet three friends on the seventh day? We’re not doing anything, just gathering and discussing.”

“I don’t like that group of friends of yours. They smoke and they look like they drink alcohol, as well. I’d rather you stay in and tell me about this girl from Russia you keep writing to. It’s fine being young and in love, I can understand it.” 

“Maybe another time.” 

“Jackson…” There’s a hidden  _ stay  _ in the voice of his father, which makes the young man freeze on the spot. He stays still like that, holding his breath until his father asks what he has to ask. “Tell me… do you smoke too? Do you drink?” 

Oh, his father sounds like a priest during a confession. It almost makes him smirk. But he turns to his father and shakes his head nevertheless. And it shocks him when his own dad shows up in front of him with their sacred book in his hand. It’s even worse that Jackson knows what he wants from his son without him saying it out loud. It shouldn't, Jackson knows, but it always felt like a punishment of some sort. 

“I don't.” Jackson mumbles, slowly placing his empty hand on the hardcover of the Bible. “Some of my friends do. And they offered me to try a few times, but I never tried. I told them about our religion and they still accept me as I am and don't pressure me to be like them anymore.” Even Jackson is surprised by his sudden need to explain that out loud. And the way he said it with his hand on the Bible sends shivers down his spine.

“Alright.” 

He has his father cupping his nape and pressing a kiss on his forehead, because that is how his father works. Swearing on the Bible is extremely important in the family, and as important as it is, Jackson believes it shouldn't be used very often. Yet his dad started using it with Jackson for a while now, ever since they had a few quarrels from which resulted that Jackson not only grew up, but that he can also have opinions and preferences. It has been hard for the family to deal with the teenager, it has been even harder to understand that the shy and little obedient Jackson is gone.

Sometimes it hurts. The fact that his parents — his father — doesn't trust Jackson, hurts. He swore multiple times he didn't grow up into a rebellious teen, instead he would like to have some more privacy because these are the years in which he discovers the world as it is, unfiltered, unsweetened by fictional stories, only raw and altered. 

“I would also like to hear about the girl who sends you pressed flowers with the letters.” And Jackson would like to tell him about it, but he feels like he can’t. “Maybe you should ask her for a picture so you’ll have in your mind her face whenever you receive the flowers. And, of course, you should send her one with you in exchange.” 

It’s not bad advice. But rather than a person, Jackson has in mind other things when he carefully unwraps the flower-smelling letters. He refuses to put a face on his penpal because his penpal is made out of poetry, flowers and stardust. His penpal is fond of Tchaikovsky and Dostoevsky and often it’s not hard to imagine the thick  _ The Brothers Karamazov _ behind which an unknown face is hiding; behind the reading figure, always a piano. His penpal is the best combination between beautiful metaphors, sarcasm, raw realism and rarely satire. Jackson doesn't want to call the penpal an angel or an idol, so he will just use the term “ideal” instead. 

Jackson doesn't want a picture. He likes the mystery. Adores the messy handwriting and the pressed flowers, always a drop of colour on a white sheet. Loves the book and music recommendations. The short lyrics he sometimes receives. The subjects they talk about. The feeling that they are the same person since they seem to understand each other so well. 

“I’ll think about it. And I’ll tell you about it on another occasion.”

It’s not a promise, it doesn't sound like one. And Jackson surely doesn't swear on the Bible about that. It’s his way of demanding the space he needs and announcing that he is going to take it now. 

In the safety enclosed between the four walls of his room, he reads the letter. It’s long and overwhelming, and it performs some sort of magic that has Jackson laying on his mattress, trying to take in every little aspect described there. It’s such a little devil, adorned with beautiful flowers to mask its intentions, Jackson realizes, and cannot help a grin. 

He absolutely loves the little devil, even when it is all an ocean of foreign poison and controversy. 

And he finds himself thinking about it. More and more. Continuously. Deeper. Even when he is encircled by cigarette smoke and a gorgeously silent starry night. Jackson’s favourite to daydream and talk to himself in his head. It faintly smells of cheap beer and some sweet bread one of the boys’ grandma made. 

“What are you dreaming about?” Comes as a whisper in Jackson's ear. Warm air is all around him. And this time Jinyoung doesn't ask whether it’s them, in the center of attention. Because, by the way Jackson is so absorbed, he is not dreaming of them this time. He is dreaming selfishly. 

“Christmas…” It’s only a shy hum, barely audible. It comes out as if it’s something Jackson is forbidden from saying. 

“I thought you didn’t celebrate Christmas.” 

Jinyoung is not wrong. They never did. Year by year, Jackson saw the lights decorating the streets and the trees in other houses. He got accustomed to the shared oranges in his classroom every December. And he never hated it, because people did those things like sheep, each and every year — or, at least, his father used to say this. 

“We…” It’s a bit more complicated and Jackson doesn't have the energy to explain the whole ideology behind it and the two extremes that only sharpen during this one day of December. “We don't. But Jaebeom wants to send me a small package. Not necessarily on behalf of Christmas…” 

“And? Let him send you stuff. Enjoy it and return the nice gesture if you feel like.” 

Of course, but Jinyoung doesn't really understand what is wrong with that. “I already feel selfish for considering accepting it. I shouldn't, Jinyoung… My parents already think that I’m losing my faith and that I’m getting further from God and that I’m becoming rebellious and all… which maybe I am, a little bit. I’m aware that Christmas is not about presents, for us it’s a day in which we silently pray, we praise and cherish God.” 

Jinyoung still looks like he doesn't see the problem. His eyes are searching, but he doesn't find it. “You said it’s not on behalf of Christmas. Regard it as a piece of his soul he wants to send to you. I truly see this as him trying to strengthen your bond. Trust me, us, “modern” Christians, like to give to those who are dear to us rather than give to poor people. I know it’s not exactly right, but that’s what our families do.” 

“I just don't know how that package will get past my parents… I don't want them to put me to open it in front of them, I want it to be personal. A secret we share. Just like our letters.”

“Hey, Sungjin!” Jinyoung shouts, his hands hiding in the pockets of his hands. They are both turning to the oldest in their group, which has the most controversial outside out of all of them. 

Sungjin looks like he is slowly chewing on the end of his cigarette. Behind him, a beautiful landscape of the night sky and a few stars. Under him, years and years of such a harsh regime which looks like it ate the whole country like a parasite — a barbaric architecture of a soviet block they’re on top of, as if happy the country has been communism-free for a couple of years now. And Sungjin is that old and tired-looking guy, finally able to breathe after having to bear so many overwhelming events during his youth which is slowly draining from his face. 

Yet, everyone looks at him with admiration because despite the metal rings in his ear, his shaved head and chunky boots, he is not rebellious. Just repulsed and disgusted about his country and the society that surrounds him. Still, he is just too careful to take his anger out on the  _ kids _ . 

“Can Jackson have a package delivered to your house? So his parents won’t find out about it?” 

Jackson did need Jinyoung to ask for him. Not because he doesn't have a tongue, but because he wouldn't ask. And Sungjin furrows his eyebrows when he hears, then spits his finished cigarette at his feet. 

“It’s not a bother to me, but I think you should also change the name, so I can pick it up. I’ll probably get a small receipt and I’ll have to pick it up from the post office, right?”

“I think so… I’ve never received a package, so I don't know.” Jackson shakes his shoulders and decides to move away from Jinyoung and closer to Sungjin. “It’s from Jaebeom and I really want to see what he could possibly send me. If it’s trouble…”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind helping you. Just explain to him what we are going to do and tell him to write my information instead of yours. And I’ll pick it up for you.” 

“Thank you.” Jackson’s head rests on Sungjin’s shoulder so Sungjin would cuddle closer comfortably. 

“Is he still coming to college here though?” 

“Jaebeom? He said he has an audition in January. I was thinking about meeting him then but I… I’m a bit scared.” 

“Why scared? I thought you were excited to meet him.” 

Jackson is. But at the same time, he is afraid of Jaebeom not being like he imagined him all this time. Though his Jaebeom does not have a face or a voice or a smile. His Jaebeom is the perfect lucid dream, too good to be true, and maybe Jackson is afraid of him not being as Jaebeom expected him to be. His heart is thumping too fast when he thinks about Jaebeom actually eyeing the real him from head to toe. 

“I don't know, I’m afraid of him not liking me.” 

“You’re very likeable!” States Yugyeom, who has been keeping quiet until now.

“I’m sure he would be very happy to meet you, Jackson. You’ve been writing to each other for a while now, so why not meet? Even for a few minutes.” 

Jackson doesn't know. He can’t voice his fright and the way he feels like he is cheating on God and on his parents. He hates hiding things from his parents, especially when they are things his parents won't be happy about. 

For now, he leans his head back, eyes closed, knot in his throat. At least he is young, and at least he has enough time to both make mistakes and fix them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please expect the other chapters to be longer than this :)) this is literally just some sort of prequel, for some context. there will also be smaller (about 1-2k words) chapters which will probably have a .05 to them. please consider those extras or bonuses or whatever you want!! this is messy because word-limit is not my main attribute.
> 
> do tell me what you think!! each kind of review is very much appreciated! 
> 
> i don't know for sure but i'll probably update this once a week or maybe once every two weeks, depends on how i finish writing the chapters!


	2. 1. gods. idols. fairies. mulled wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super thankful to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ1xeIRqtrU) for helping me rewrite pretty much the first half of this chapter. i guess if fits some of the parts in here, so maybe listen to it while reading if you want to!

_ “Dear Jackson, _

_ How have you been? I hope you are doing alright. I must apologize for my delayed letter, which came in a package this time. It’s become tradition, hasn’t it? _

_ I really hope you enjoy the small things I put together for you. If they manage to make you at least a bit happier, then I’m going to be happy.  _

_ I would love to tell you about what I have been doing lately, but the issue is that life has been quiet for me. I can’t really hide it, you probably noticed the address on the envelope anyway and are wondering what am I doing in a place like this. I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. All I can say is it has been hard to recover from my surgeries and not being able to dance or to even walk took a toll on my mental capacity. I still regret missing the chance to study at the University in your country, but what can I do? Even two years later, I’m still notably recovered. _

_ It’s a pain, really. But I have my ballet teacher who is visiting often and encourages me to get well soon because he misses taking me to dancing competitions. For now, all I can do is pray that my mind would heal as the pain would soothe. Sometimes I play the piano and everything goes away. I do think about you playing the guitar and I try to compose simple tunes to keep my mind away from the thought that I’m eating medicine for this Christmas. _

_ But I’m not mad or upset. I’m trying my best to be thankful for everything I have next to me currently. So, in the end, I’m not doing bad.  _

_ I’m looking forward to hearing from you, Jackson. May your winter holidays be full of joy, and may you be surrounded by friends and loved ones. I wish you the best, and I truly hope the winter there is not that harsh as it is here. And tell me how you liked your little Christmas present! _

_ P.S.: I sent you the photo because I don’t really want it. I don’t want to remember my time here, so I thought I would send it to you so you’d remember my face. _

_ Yours, _

_ Jaebeom.” _

  
  


With a small sigh, two fingers slowly grab the corner of the attached picture. It indeed gives the feeling that Jaebeom didn’t want to be photographed at that moment, yet he doesn’t look bad. Though Jackson can’t say he adores the white background which is prominent, a reminder that Jaebeom is in an asylum.

Jackson makes a mental note to send him something cute in exchange, but for the moment, he gets distracted by the sound of an acoustic guitar hearing from the next room. Since it could be no other than Sungjin, Jackson gets up and sees himself occupying the seat next to his best friend whom he is sharing the apartment with. Having Sungjin around is great, and having his strumming his acoustic guitar from time to time is even better. 

_ Sometimes I play the piano and everything goes away  _ is still imprinted in Jackson’s mind. Imagining Jaebeom in a white robe, curled on the piano chair and playing a desperate tune is not even hard — it’s harder to admit that he looks like some sort of sad bride left at the Altar, hopeless. 

He leans his head back and sets his hands on his stomach. Closes his eyes and tries to picture a piano following Sungjin’s tune. His mind takes him even further, showing him Jaebeom’s back and his fingertips pressing on the keyboards. Though Jaebeom never mentioned he would know how to sing, he does in Jackson’s little fantasy, and it’s so sad that Jackson can’t even comprehend or understand what he is even saying there. It’s as if he is singing his pain away, and the sound of it makes Jackson’s chest hurt, as if the pain dissipates all around. Somehow, Jackson sees himself next to Jaebeom, a rather weird portrayal of a rebellious-looking self, alongside a crying Jaebeom.

It’s as if even the tough, rebellious side of him feels its chest twisting in pain as listening closely to that melody. Which only stops as Jackson’s hands cup his face to turn it around and feels shaky hands hesitating to press against Jackson’s wrists. Trembling lips, pouring eyes and messy bangs are all in Jackson’s vision, so close to his face and to his lips that he feels like pressing his lips there and kissing all the pain away. The image moves without him being able to control any of it, and he sees the wicked-looking self kissing on Jaebeom’s tears, licking the still trembling lips and soon his mouth diving in to eat all of the pain right from Jaebeom’s mouth. In his hands, Jaebeom’s figure is still shaking with pain with every kiss they share. Jackson’s mouth becomes salty, so salty that he can’t even speak. 

That Jackson grips Jaebeom tightly and pushes him on the piano, all so his wicked self could get up and tower over the saddened, crying figure. That Jackson looks unfamiliar from the back, but more distracting are the trembling thighs wrapped tightly around that Jackson’s waist. What’s next Jackson can’t really describe because it’s crimson digging out of a black hole, piercing skin, pouring, creating something absolutely hideous in the place where Jaebeom’s legs should be. Jaebeom grabs at Jackson’s neck and screams so loudly that Jackson’s lucid dream breaks in front of him, forcing him to open his eyes and breathe, eyes big and fixed at whatever is in front of him. 

He’s awake now. He’s aware. He is here. And Jaebeom isn’t. And he can tell Sungjin is eyeing him subtly, slowly getting worried. 

So Jackson shakes his head, lets his body fall back against the couch. His lips and his agitated mind push him to hum something along the strumming of Sungjin’s guitar, so he would keep himself busy. As if trying to remember the melody Jaebeom was playing earlier in his weird fantasy, he tries to match it with the guitar. There are no lyrics yet because Jaebeom only sang his pain away in such an unhuman way that Jackson cannot reciprocate it. Instead, he tries to think about words or things that might break his heart, that might force a tear or two out of him. 

He manages to catch the melody, but the only lyrics he can come up with are “stars are born and then die”, but that’s not sufficient. Sungjin tries to follow with his voice, adds up a few words here and there and when it gets overwhelming, he switches to whistling along the tune. Jackson believes it sounds great even like that, so he keeps in mind to return to this song and finish it sometime. 

“Do you want to go out and get wasted?”   
  
“Maybe not wasted because I have work tomorrow.” Jackson mumbles, shaking his shoulders. “I could use a beer or two though.”

Sungjin sends a sympathetic smile his way as he puts his guitar away. They are the best of buddies, have been for a few years now. At this point, Jackson is aware that Sungjin has memorized the few expressions Jackson’s face curls up into whenever he is feeling something intensely. 

“Why is it that you’re always so sad when you receive stuff from that guy from Russia?”

“I’m not exactly sad. I like it that his words can inspire me, even when they’re filled with sadness. And the thing you were playing made me…” Jackson shakes his shoulders, not knowing how to finish that. He’d rather let it as it is. “I’ll go get my wallet.”

His dark maroon wallet is standing quietly on the table, next to the couple of stuff Jaebeom sent him. Now Jackson does feel a bit guilty for not giving attention to every little thing and instead choosing to go out and have a drink with Sungjin — yet he feels there is something he has to do before that. The picture with the date scribbled down in the white corner of the polaroid frame; “ _ carpe diem _ ” written on the back, latin alphabet which Jackson is accustomed with. The face of Jaebeom in the picture might not be the happiest, but everything is raw and true and Jackson adores it. It’s all raw inspiration, which only gains more personality as he messily folds the white edges and a bit of the background, until it’s thin enough to fit in Jackson’s wallet. 

With that and a small smile adorning his face, he turns his back to the table and the other gifts and gets impatient to think some more about Jaebeom while getting his blood intoxicated. 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


It’s called “100 Beers” and it is not as expensive as it is popular. Situated in the Old Town of Bucharest, it’s always filled with good people and good music. Neither cheap nor expensive, the legend says that “you’re cool if you go there” — most of the time, you’re lucky to find decent music and great beer at a good price. It’s also the best alternative if the humongous and popular “The H Pavilion” scares you. 

It’s a Wednesday night, so only about a half of the seats are taken. Jackson and Sungjin choose a table, the closest to the stage they found. It’s small and cozy anyway, warmer than their apartment, and the beers they receive promptly look great. 

“We have to talk to Jinyoung and Yugy and start again with the band. Like, seriously.” It’s the first thing Jackson says. The first subject to discuss tonight, over golden beer. So be it. 

“No one gives a shit about our existence, Jackson. If no one listens, it means our songs are crappy. We’re only amateurs anyway.” 

“But you love to sing and to play guitar! And you said it’s your dream to have a band, to be cool like Metallica and Guns’n’Roses.”

“They’re foreign bands, and they were made for success. I don't know, Jackson… I’m tired and I’m getting old. It’s embarrassing to play in this band crap when you’re a grown up man. I understand Yugy who is barely eighteen, I understand you and Jinyoung, you’re only twenty. But I am hitting twenty-five next month… I’m not a teen anymore to strum my guitar just to get attention from girls.”

Sungjin shakes his shoulders, and as he dips his lips into the foam of his beer, a tune with a retro synth hits. It doesn't even last half a minute and a warm voice starts filling the song. The first few lyrics of the song make Sungjin turn his head to put a face on the voice: a girl around Jackson’s age, dark long hair, a pink loose dress which looks like a pajama. Black scratched boots and a bunch of colourful little tattoos on her arms. 

Before Sungjin can process the way she looks, the instrumental from the beginning repeats again; he missed the fucking chorus, but he is listening now, with furrowed eyebrows and his hands away from his beer. 

As the weird punk fairy on the stage spins a few times, making her pajama-like dress puff up around her, Sungjin stares without breathing. He is shaken to his core and no, those are not the goosebumps he feels whenever he listens to his favourite rock ballads. In fact, he is not even fond of this retro music playing, but there is something about this moment that makes him stare like it’s the best thing he has ever seen. Next to him, his friend notices his expression which makes Jackson think that there could be tears pouring out of Sungjin’s mouth if he were to open it. 

“She has a nice voice.” Jackson interrupts, earning a blank stare from Sungjin, who doesn't say anything, as if still processing her bittersweet lyrics. 

[_Come take my arms and go,/ I’ll be yours for sure_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iFP_wd6QU8) are the lines that conclude her funky little song. Sungjin shakes his head, as if unable to believe, and earns an elbow from Jackson. 

Sungjin lets his temple in his palm as he watches the fairy pick up a yellow guitar. It’s good that Sungjin doesn't say out loud that he will let himself fall under the table if she starts playing guitar — because she fucking does, delicately, on an ever softer, happier tune.  [ _ I am your bunny that you hold tight when you go to sleep _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZnW6A2k9tw) _ ,  _ she starts, and honestly, Sungjin falls in love. Maybe not with her per-se, but with everything around her, with the way she is so unique, with her stories about love put into lyrics and with the  _ warm  _ tunes of her band. He finds it surreal. 

Jackson notices. And he is smiling against his glass of beer, glad that his best friend found a God to look up to and adore. Looking at Sungjin, he bets his friend feels just as he feels: small, staring and admiring, wanting to reach out his hands and touch his God; or maybe Jackson shouldn't perceive those strange persons you fall in love with as Gods. It’s a bit rude. A bit too much perhaps. 

“I want to sing with her.” Sungjin mumbles, reaching for his red Marlboros and lighting up one. “Or to play guitar for her.” 

“She made you want to sing, didn’t she?” 

Sungjin lifts his head as he doesn't hear any instrumental in the background. Did she stop singing? Did she finish? No, she didn’t, as she hums softly a few vocalizations into her mic. Again, Sungjin wonders what the hell is that, but after she stops, a powerful jazzy instrumental starts unexpectedly. There are drums, a dramatic guitar, synth,  _ bass _ , and it makes Sungjin rest his palms on top of his head, blown away. 

[ _ I wasn’t welcomed there _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlSSJbjfVpE)

[ _ They all want me out _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlSSJbjfVpE)

[ _ Do I really have to reason or _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlSSJbjfVpE)

[ _ Should I just leave? _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlSSJbjfVpE)

As his best friend falls in love hard with the singer, Jackson can only stare with a dumb smile on his face. He is not an expert, yet it’s so obvious why Sungjin feels so strongly for the anonymous singer, and though Jackson doesn't believe in God anymore, maybe he will pray for his friend to cross paths with her again. In the end… Bucharest is not that big, and maybe they’ll find her here next time, too. 

Jackson can’t help but be glad: she looks like a muse, and he is sure she will stir Sungjin. There’s no way Sungjin will leave her alone if he sees her again, and that is exactly what Jackson is going to pray for. 

“Is Yugy coming to Uni here?” Sungjin asks later, half-drunk on beer and half-agitated by what feels like a strange unrequited love. 

So the next conversation over warm beer is about school and…  _ them _ . Jackson is sober for that, always. 

“He said he will apply for  _ Letters _ . I really hope he gets in, on a budget-paid position.”

“Mhm. And Jinyoung?” 

“I just hope he manages to move from his aunt’s place. Maybe he’ll pay rent with Yugyeom, as the two of us do. Or maybe all four of us could move somewhere together.” 

“I don't know, Jackson, it’s going to be cramped. And I already feel like a loser that I have to split rent at my age, no offense.” 

Jackson doesn't mind hearing that. He appreciates the sincerity. 

“I’m gonna pray that you get your muse.” Jackson says with a smile that makes Sungjin raise a questioning eyebrow. “So she’ll guide you. So you’ll guide us further.” 

“Sure, man, you and your religion.” 

Jackson lifts his shoulders, aware that he is lame with his religious roots that intoxicated his brain. Ever since he left home for the capital, he tried to cut them off, yet it looks like a lot of them are deeper than he expected. Again, it’s not him being rebellious, only him tasting freedom. Him making his own decisions. Him choosing if he wants to believe or not. And as much as he respects his parents, he kind of said “fuck it, I’m not made for this”. 

Because he is too flawed. His mind is draining in sin as his heart desires the sweetest sin the most. He is in love with a man, has been for the past three years or so. And by now he managed to understand that there is no cure to it. In order to live peacefully, he has to allow himself to breathe, and to allow his heart to long for that person, no matter how wrong it is. 

“Sungjin.” 

“Hm?”

“I’m in love with Jaebeom.” He blurts out, then grabs his glass to finish his beer. “I’m aware that this is dumb and that there’s a great chance I will never see him again… I only saw him once, and too late did I realize that some of us only get one chance. You may be luckier and have more than me, but I would still advise you to shoot your shot from the first try. In the end… the night is young.” He quickly makes a motion with his head, to make Sungjin lift his head and look in front of him, at the bar. 

The muse is there, still in her pajama-like dress and her black boots. The issue is that Sungjin is neither the drunk and cocky pig, nor the flirty drunk. In essence, he is pretty weird. 

“Go ask her if she performed at the H Pavilion. If she has a record or something like that.”

“I’d rather we go the fuck home.” 

That night, Jackson almost curses at his best friend for being the luckiest motherfucker out there when the girl asks them for a lighter. 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


_ “My dear Jaebeom, _

_ I want to be frank and say I don't remember what we talked about last time. Writing to you is hard and waiting for an answer is even harder. And lately, finding inspiration to write to you has been the hardest. _

_ I want to toss the letters and ask you to fuck it all and come here. I want to wait for you in the train station, and I would even buy you the ticket if I could. I want to hold you in my arms, to feel you, to remember that you are real. I want to grab you and never let go. I am helplessly in love with you.”  _

Jackson’s head lifts in disgust and his hand is quick to grab the paper in front of him and turn it into a wrinkly wisp. There are seven other paper balls scattered on the small table, making him wonder whether he should unwrap them all and send them to Jaebeom, along with an apology note in which he explains his inability to word out his thoughts. 

He has been thinking about it constantly: while at work, while showering, while washing the dishes. While eating. Even as laying his head down and trying to fall asleep. But it doesn't work. And as days pass by, he gets obsessed and incredibly worked up over not being able to write a reply to Jaebeom. 

With a sigh, he picks up his pen again. This time he slightly rolls the paper and starts writing from the upper left corner of it. 

_ “A one-way ticket, for any of us _

_ I’ll pay it, I don’t care about the loss _

_ Just jump into my arms, hold me tight _

_ I’m so sick of our never-ending word-fight” _

There are a few more lines under that which Jackson starts cutting out multiple times until he gets angry at what came out of him and makes it into a ball, just like he did with the others. Only… this one he tosses over the headboard of the bed, with the intention of having it land in the bin. It can stay there, he thinks, already full of frustration he doesn't know how to let out. 

There are moments like this, when he wonders whether he shouldn’t have abandoned his God — instead, he could have had his family around him, he could have been in the house he grew up into and would have had income from something not as humiliating as serving cakes. At this point, he doesn't even know if he wants God back or if he needs comfort from Sungjin, who always takes his hand and lifts him up when he is down. Soon, that is going to feel humiliating. 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


Jackson gulps again. He had just imagined for the upteenth time that Jinyoung would bring Jaebeom with him, with some sort of magic. It’s as impossible as it is impossible for Jackson to stop thinking about a second black head shyly hiding behind Jinyoung. In his mind, it’s the most beautiful image, so why does it make his stomach hurt and eyes tear up? Why does it fill his mouth with bitterness? 

So he swallows that bitterness and acts like he looks away from Sungjin, who is already intoxicated by the punk fairy sitting on the table. She doesn't even look punk anymore, she looks almost normal — almost, because her winter jacket is a bit too big for her, a bit large, but it looks soft and warm and it gives her the softness she always has, no matter what or how. Sungjin is still looking at her like she is a deity; Jackson still doesn't know what to think of it.

The atmosphere is great. It is supposed to be like that, warm and cozy. Jackson is supposed to hide his feelings, because they are… dumb and almost unjustifiable.  _ “I’m not bothered by you liking a man, I’m bothered by you claiming you love a person you have only seen once in your life” _ , Sungjin told him when he finally went to Sungjin to cry about it. 

It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, and he has to hide all the pain. It’s even harder to hide it while having to watch Sungjin falling in love with Yerin, having her close, seeing her everyday. While Jackson can’t even write a letter anymore. 

“We’re gonna bring our boy home. Then, our little baby will join us in a few months, and we’ll be complete.” 

“You guys should sing at one of the locals in the old town.” 

Yes, but Jackson wants more than that. Starting with the local bars is great, yet he is not willing to settle for that. Once again, he is going to sell his whole self, kill his old self in order to make it big. It’s his dream, it’s what keeps him going: his guitar harmonising with Sungjin, Sungjin’s high vocals when they mess around together and he sings so well without even being aware of it. Jackson memorising guitar solos and practicing them in the morning, when Sungjin is already at work and he has the house for himself and should probably sleep. However, they are still in an indefinite form, unshaped, let alone unpolished. 

“We should probably get going though. Or, if you want, I can go by myself.” 

“Nah, let’s go bring Jinyoung home. I’ll be back later.” Sungjin says the last thing to Yerin, and Jackson can’t help but roll his eyes at that. 

Sungjin is going to get back to Yerin and leave Jackson with Jinyoung. Which is fine, because Jackson thought about making mulled wine anyway, for the sake of it. For friendship and for Jinyoung finally joining their miserable life in the capital. 

“Can I ask you something without you getting mad at me?” At the raised eyebrow of Sungjin, Jackson just shoots his shot. “It’s nice that you like Yerin, I’m happy about it. Still, do you think you could ask her to help us with the band?” 

“What do you mean  _ help us _ ?”

“Exposure, maybe.”

“Jackson, at best we’ll have our fifteen minutes of fame and then disappear. But, sure, I’ll ask for her help when I’ll feel like we actually have a decent band and a few songs. Until then… let’s wait some more and work hard, yeah?” 

Just a hum from Jackson. His hands hide in his pocket. He shivers and reminds himself of that image of himself he always has in his dreams, slightly different each time. Yet always a grotesque kind of gorgeous, free, inspiring. Twisted. And controversial. Rebellious, too. He is in love with that Jackson and can’t wait to reach for him, grab him, and leave the old, lame one behind. 

That Jackson always has what he wants: the crowd, the high, the freedom and the happiness. Somehow, he also has Jaebeom in his bed, too. That Jackson is a pagan, the total opposite of what his parents raised. And even so, he is glowing, so loved, so adored, and so happy. Jackson would want to be him so bad, as he has no inhibitions, no regrets. He doesn't cry, nor clenches his teeth as he bears pain. He is just perfect, untouchable, and the only time Jackson feels like him is when he is playing guitar. When he works hard for his passion and loves the process and the work rather than the result. 

Jackson doesn't even realize when they get to the Northern Train Station. As Sungjin looks for the panel, Jackson only stares blankly, nowhere in particular. He follows Sungjin, as always, trusting him. And when they are on the platform, once again, Jackson gets lost between thought and fake imagery. 

Instead of a happy Jinyoung, they welcome a Jinyoung with a red face. And a Yugyeom with a red face, which is the shocker of the night. Their drummer was supposed to finish school… Now he is a dropped out, with red puffy eyes, black clothes and a heavy heart, most probably. So Jackson gets it. Gives him a hug instead of bullshit and scolding. Holds him so tightly and promises him that no matter what, they will stick together and take care of each other. 

As hot tears roll down Yugyeom's cheeks, Jinyoung drags Jackson in a hold, his head hidden in Jackson’s shoulder. That’s when Jackson sees that there are things more important in life, things he didn’t understand until this very moment:  _ family _ , for instance. 

Yugyeom just lost someone. Jinyoung left his family at home. Sungjin never had a great one, falling apart from it a long time ago. Jackson’s felt like some sort of madhouse, some strangers who raised him and whom he ended up running away from. 

“You have us. We all have each other.” Jackson mumbles, his eyes tearing as still holding Jinyoung. “Let’s make a promise to stick together and take care of each other. Let’s never forget this moment, when we are at our lowest… and let’s overcome it together, alright?”

It’s not a speech, it’s something he needs to say out loud. The others reassuring that they are on the same page as him does good to him. Though it’s sad, they’re reunited, at last. 

Jackson inhales deeply and dares turn around to watch the leaving train and the snowflakes falling everywhere, as if they are drunk and confused. For a second, he closes his eyes and imagines the opposite, which is the train stopping and people getting out instead of getting in. He sees the perfect Jackson in his cool leather jacket, shaved head and pierced ears, sticking his hands in his pockets and waiting. Eventually, lighting up a cigarette as the people get out of the wagons. Then throwing it in the snow and reaching out his arms to feel warm, to feel loved. To welcome his gorgeous Jaebeom and lift him up, to tell him how much he missed him in his weird Russian. 

He closes his eyes and gazes at the train leaving and at him still only having his  _ family  _ next to him. Though it’s not the happiest smile he gives them, it’s the most sincere he manages. The tears still falling down his neck must be showing that. 

It’s all a haze of promises and silent tears until Jackson finds himself boiling wine in an old pot. Not for three, nor for four, but for five people, so the whole bottle they had. He can’t process it, not even as Jinyoung’s shoulder touches his and then they both look at the cinnamon bar Jinyoung throws in the pot. Not even as Jinyoung mumbles to Jackson what happened, even though Jackson already figured it out ever since he saw Yugyeom. It’s no secret. Everyone expected it to happen, because, in the end, it’s rare that people beat an illness. 

“This is all so weird, Jackson… I never imagined myself ending up in this place, and honestly, I feel lost. I feel homeless. And helpless. And I bet Yugyeom feels the same.” 

“We will figure it out, Jinyoung. We have to.” 

“It’s a tragedy…” 

“For the past two years or so, I’ve taken hit after hit, so I got used to being on the ground. It’s no tragedy. Right now I’m waiting to see if I manage to get up or if I will die on the ground, and honestly, I can’t wait to see which one will be it.” 

“No, but… do you really think Sungjin's girlfriend will help us with the band?”

“I just say that we have to play like our life depends on it and maybe we’ll get a few gigs.”  _ And if you guys don't want to do it, I’ll do it on my own.  _

“I don't know how you can be so motivated. I can't see us managing to make ends meet by singing. We’re a mock of a band.” 

“Maybe, but I believe in my own fate. And I’ve been through too much unfair shit, Jinyoung. At one point, things will change for me, I believe. They have to.” 

“How can you be so sure though?”

“I just…  _ believe _ .”

Since the wine boils in the pot, Jackson stares at it and tries to cherish the moment. He might not have much, yet he chooses to be thankful that at least he has some wine, warmth and a handful of friends around him. 

There are only three mugs, so Jackson and Sungjin pour the leftover wine in two glasses after filling the three mugs; they split it brotherly in half, and as they do so, Sungjin mumbles something about them not having where to fit five people on a couch and on a one-person bed. It’s too crowded. 

“Yerin told me that I could sleep over at her if I wanted to. It’s a bit rude of me to leave you guys here and go sleep at her, but it’s crowded as hell.” 

“Jinyoung said he saved up some money. I guess they could afford to pay rent for one month somewhere and stay together. It’s a matter of a few days until the two of them find a place to stay.” 

“I know. That’s why I thought about ‘camping’ at Yerin until they’ll find a place. It’s not a hook-up, it’s rather… Maybe I’ll manage to write two-three songs while I stay over at her.” 

Jackson hums. He is aware that there is nothing going on between Sungjin and Yerin. They might look like a couple, but they are currently just friends. Sungjin does want more, yet always backs off whenever he feels like making the first step: he doesn't want to risk it with someone like Yerin because none of them afford losing her at a time like this. They’re bonding well, and Sungjin considers that enough for the time being. It’s safer to just keep it up for a while, until the band puts itself together. 

“If she is alright with it…” 

“She came with the idea.” 

Can Jackson stop his friend? Or can he say anything in this situation? In reality, he doesn't even mind blankly gazing at Sungjin and Yerin leaving hand in hand. And he doesn't mind Yugyeom and Jinyoung falling asleep in Sungjin's bed, curled up around each other. At that, Jackson does his job and covers them with the thickest blanket they have. He also presses loving kisses on Yugyeom's and Jinyoung's foreheads, as if he were a loving mother. 

Only after closing the door behind him and sitting on the couch does he understand how incredibly lonely he is. Though he tries to stay strong for all of them and keep them together, lift them up, love them and take care of them, there is no one to do the same for him at the end of the day. Despite that, he promised himself a thousand times he won't cry again in silence, but he still does. Every fucking time. 

Sometimes he wishes he had someone like himself in his life. Another him, to at least pat him on the shoulder and tell him he did well. Sure, he can do it himself sometimes, yet being lonely can become dreadful sometimes. It can become tiring and Jackson is exhausted. 

All he can do to calm down is use his mind, imagine something warm and loving. Nothing comes to mind apart from Jaebeom, and by the time he reaches for the pillow to pull it to his chest, he has the salty taste of his tears in his mouth. His lips are slightly shaking, just like his chest, and he feels a weird knot in his throat, which makes it harder for him to breathe. With all that, he is still quiet, because it’s not the first or the last time this overwhelming feeling caves him in.

As his tears dry on his face, he grabs his guitar. And to play it, he makes a mental image of Jaebeom in front of him, listening to him. As if the two of them had mulled wine together in their shitty little apartment, as if they are slightly drunk, and as if Jackson has to exercise his love through a ballad to him. As if Jaebeom would drag him to bed later on, undress him and love him back, so so much. 

The struggle is the starting point, the whole process of figuring out the first few lines. It’s not particularly hard — he finds himself playing something after less than ten minutes of being unsure and uninspired, and goes with it afterwards. Repeats it a few times so his hands have time to memorise the movements on the guitar. Pictures himself starting this song over and over again. Eventually, he mumbles some random words which serve as lyrics. The song slowly gets contoured, making Jackson look like an Acting student, reciting a contemporan poem along with his guitar. The lyrics are small images easy to portray; real images of the mundane ugly, a bit vulgar here and there. 

It’s not the best, but Jackson is confident enough because they are a rock band, in the end. And if he remembers well, rock is vast and allows any kind of garbage, so it’s not exactly a bad creation. Jackson is almost proud of it. 

Rock is that kind of shit that allows anything. And rock idols usually have something that serves as their God, be that God an addiction to alcohol or smoke, be it carnal pleasure, be it people, lovers who serve as muses. They don’t have that, not yet at least, but Sungjin has a punk fairy that can be pretty much it. And Jackson, Jinyoung and Yugyeom each have their wounds and scars that sometimes are a good equivalent. 

  
So maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ they might have a chance. Sometimes in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one thing I kinda forgot to mention is that I will add tags (if necessary) as I keep adding chapters.


	3. 1.05. how does it feel to be your own god?

A jazzy tune still very loud and clear in Jackson’s head. Beer bottle to his lips, his whole system intoxicated by a sweet tone and lyrics he finds to be deep. Maybe he is falling in love too, just like Sungjin. It’s truly impossible not to. 

“I think we did a good job today.” Jinyoung reminds all of them, sitting in the middle of them all like the peacemaker he is. 

“No, we did. Her father most likely didn’t like me having pierced ears and looking like a thug.” Sungjin mumbles before tasting his cigarette once more. 

“Then stop looking like a fucking thug.” 

It’s weird how Jackson is the first to get up from his seat and open his arms when he spots Yerin — it’s only natural she smiles at him first, then hugs him. All while everyone stares, Sungjin blank and blunt until he feels Yugyeom elbowing him. “Jacks is stealing your girl.” 

“She’s not my girl.” But everyone knows for a fact Sungjin would like her to be. He’s not fit for her, sure, for endless and countless reasons, but he can dream about it. 

And what’s with her today? Stealing all the eyes with the pretty dress she is wearing? She is gorgeous, but for what? To start a war? Fine then, and Sungjin is fine with Jackson having the first win tonight. 

It’s fine. Sungjin is going to have his wins, too. He is going to have his good days in which he’ll win and get drunk on happiness. He just hopes it’s not going to be something extremely competitive because he doesn't want neither him nor Jackson to get off on those stupid victories over a muse. 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


Again, it’s fine. Because Sungjin wins even with his flaws, even with his pierced ears, with his flawed face and clothes that make him look like a thug. 

So why does he win? Perhaps because he often bought Yerin flowers after her performances? Or perhaps because he took her to the Tineretului Park for the first time in her life? Perhaps because he admired her from a distance even when she was sitting in her chair, cheek buried into her palm, silent tears getting lost between her skin and her long hair? 

Perhaps the last one. But not exclusively. 

Because people saw her as a colourful butterfly when she wasn’t. Because everyone painted her in bright shades, vivid applause and stretched out smiles when she wanted to be coloured in all the shades of grey. Because everyone blindly offered her love when she was rather in love with the idea of being in love. 

Sungjin won because he saw that. 

He won one late night that found Yerin on his couch, curled up in a corner, with her notebook on her lap and face hidden with her hair. Jackson in the other corner of the couch, Sungjin at her feet, on the floor. The tv in front of them, low volume, none of them actually paying a great deal of attention to the movie playing. 

Then, Yerin, expecting neither of them to notice and both doing the unexpected, making her feel cornered, anxious, panicking for not being able to hide it anymore. Sungjin passing her his lighter when she pressed a cigarette to her lips, and Jackson getting closer, not touching her, but being there in case she needed anyone to hold her. 

“I want to calm myself down, but I can’t. In the end, I have no reason to be crying, but I just can’t help it.” 

Jackson subtly eyeing Sungjin. Sungjin furrowing his eyebrows and staying true to himself, only reaching a hand to hold hers. Jackson then crossing his arms at the level of his chest and getting reminded of Jaebeom, whom he haven’t been writing to for a few months now. 

“I don’t want to look weak or dumb… but it’s inside and it hurts and I can’t hold it in anymore. You guys weren’t supposed to see me like this, I’m sorry…”

Tears and whispers in the night, unfinished cigarettes and Sungjin’s palms rubbing at Yerin’s back, at least that was what that night meant to Jackson. Along with a realization he couldn't word. Of course he went to the other room, leaving the door slightly open and being able to hear other kinds of sounds later on. A few popped lids from beer bottles, some kisses. The two probably getting it on as silently as possible while Jackson was in the room, alone with his unfinished mug of tea and the letter he didn’t reply to.

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


Yerin’s eyes grow with shock as she is handed an electric razor. She gazes at Jackson, waiting expectantly and yet only seeing him opening his mouth and closing it as if it is broken. 

“I need to let it go. And just live. But I can’t even process it, because it has been almost a year and a half and…” A shake of head, an anxious heart battling to open up. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m still stuck at you and Sungjin hooking up, at me thinking about a reply to that letter… you crying on our couch and us playing with your band and…”

“Jackson.”

“I know we got this opportunity with our demo, I know we’re on it. I know we’re…  _ fuck _ . I just never thought.” 

“Jackson, are you hungover? Drunk? Did you snort anything funny?”

“No.” Jackson mumbles, looking for a chair and later placing the small stool in front of the bathroom sink. “I just woke up today and it hit me. Everything, all at once. What we used to do and how we used to be… a part of my brain must still be stuck there.” 

“So you woke up today and decided to be melancholic?”

“Not melancholic. I’m scared! Time flew by me… and I don’t recall enjoying it.” 

“Maybe I should talk to my psychiatrist and ask him whether he can also have a few sessions with you… What’s with the razor?” 

“Right… how does it feel? Therapy, how does it feel?” 

“Like a roulette, I'd say. Sometimes, it makes you feel better. Sometimes, it makes you too self-aware, which can be pretty bad. Why?”

“I used to be in love with this guy… he eventually got into an asylum, a mental institution of some sort. I never truly understood exactly why he was suffering, but he looked depressed in the picture he sent me. I never told him, but it broke my heart. Then we met you, and everytime you were suffering, I got reminded of his suffering and I… felt my heart breaking again. I always watched you hoping I would understand, but… it’s already been one year and a half and neither did I understand, nor did I reply to his letter. I know I’m guilty, but it’s already too late and I should just let it go.” 

“So you want to leave it all in the past and start new? Do you want a new Jackson?”

“I want a new Jackson.” 

“How does the new Jackson look like?”

“I dreamt of myself looking different quite a few times… I dreamt of myself being different…”

“Different, how?” 

“Reckless and happy… a bit rebellious… I don't know. In my dreams, it felt like I could have anything.” 

“Do you want me to shave your head?”

“Mhm. Just like Sungjin had it buzzed, if you remember.” 

“I remember! Are you sure though?”

“It’s just hair. Fuck it.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because I also need to add this. hope it's not super confusing tho


	4. 2. stories from the train station

The narrow hall seems familiar, but this time the perspective is different, a bit distorted too. Or maybe it’s just his headache. 

It’s raining calmly outside, and his sixteen-years-old self has wet shoes and a bouquet of wet flowers. Since he looks embarrassing, the boys in the right corner, sitting close to the door, start grinning at each other and elbowing one another. Poor Jackson assumes one of them must be Jaebeom, and right when he wants to ask, he almost jumps due to the hand gently tapping him on his back.

He turns and experiences his glasses getting foggy, so he has to clean them fast and messily with his sleeve. His eyebrows raise as he sees one more boy, with black bangs and a white turtleneck. Two black bobby pins on one of his sides, the small “x” Jackson can’t stop staring at. A bit crazy how none of the others didn’t fit the “standard of Jaebeom” Jackson already had set in his mind — yet this one in front of him not only does fit the standard, but also breaks it into pieces. So it’s easy for Jackson to stretch out his hand and offer him the bouquet, though none of them even introduced themselves. 

Only, the brunette in front of him doesn't take the flowers because his name is being called from inside the room. Deep eyes like the ocean stare at Jackson for a second, and then he is off, so quick and efficient as if he is flying. 

For some reason, the door doesn't shut close behind Jaebeom this time, and everyone can see his audition. With the people at their tables instructing, shouting things in French and telling him what to do, it’s not really as fun as Jackson believed. He looks as beautiful as he looks cold and wooden, and there’s not much to say about it, just as there is not much personality to his movements.  _ He is moving like a robot.  _ But Jackson watches him anyway, trying not to look bored to death by the lack of personality. 

There’s a particular tune in his head, so upbeat and dancey, that goes like  _ robot, robot, robot _ and Jackson just can’t unhear it for some reason. It feels like a nightmare that’s singing right behind Jackson, almost pats him on the back, so he has to turn around for a second and check, but sees nothing. 

When his head turns back, he sees seventeen-years-old Jaebeom taking the wet flowers with a shy smile. “Nah, it’s what you fucking deserve,” twenty-four-years-old Jackson believes, and gets freaked out about seeing the Jaebeom from eight years ago in front of him.  _ Something is wrong.  _ Yet Jaebeom is smiling a weirdly wide smile, and lets Jackson’s eyes follow him as he passes by. 

For some reason, he puts a hand over his chest and feels it bare underneath his leather jacket. He gulps and sees a glass wall in front of him, and behind it, a blurry silhouette moving, dancing. Something is beating — his heart pounding in his temples, along with the music behind the wall — so he places his palms where he sees another pair of palms, stuck on the other side of the wall. Jackson’s brain is pounding with the vibrations as the silhouette gets down while waving its body, as if still dancing at a slower pace. 

Palms on the other side of the wall again, and Jackson tries to cover them all with his own, but they make him dizzy. He has no idea how he knows this, but behind the wall there is Jaebeom, trying to call for him, to reach him, and the fact that Jackson can’t break the wall with his bare hands to get beneath it, makes him lose his mind. He hits the wall with his bare hands a few times, in vain. Only manages to agitate the silhouette, to make it move as if it’s trying to hit back at the wall. 

A gulp again as his hand reaches on his back and grabs his newest acquisition, an expensive, luscious, gorgeous Fender. His desperate eyes gaze at the instrument for a few seconds, and then he finally grabs it tight by its tail and hits the wall with it. Once, and it cracks slightly. Twice, thrice, it’s cracking more and more. Four times, he is almost there, the guitar almost breaking in half. The fifth time, both surfaces smash against each other, but at least, the wall is in pieces at his feet, along with the parts of his guitar. And behind the broken wall… nothing. 

Did he just smash his guitar to pieces for nothing? Call that disappointing. It’s even more disappointing how he has no voice in this place, so all he can do is turn around and look for the silhouette. 

Around him, the world looks like it’s ending. There’s a strange sound filling his ears, and as he turns around, his heart jumps in his chest at the sight of Jaebeom in front of him. The real Jaebeom, mature, nape covered by grown-out black hair. Black clothes from his neck to his thighs, bare long legs and black ballet shoes on his feet. The same “x” on one of his temples, in gold this time.

They look at each other and the second Jackson moves his hand, Jaebeom starts moving in front of him, dancing and trying to guide Jackson, too. Sure, Jackson can’t dance, yet his hands stay in Jaebeom’s, tight, not letting go and barely letting Jaebeom to let go of them. He only watches all the limbs, the hips, the neck, shoulders, spine, everything in front of him moving so beautifully. As Jaebeom keeps on dancing, Jackson feels like he is falling in love more and more with each second, and because he can’t bear not having Jaebeom’s warm body stuck to his, he lets go of the hands to grab at Jaebeom’s hips. 

He pushes Jaebeom against another glass wall, and lets his own body crash against Jaebeom’s. Face in Jaebeom’s neck, thighs against Jackson’s waists and a stomach pressed against Jackson’s own. They’re both naked, all skin, and Jaebeom is trapped, only Jackson’s to touch and smell. Jackson mumbles about a hundred “I love you”s until everything fades away, dissipates into thin air and turns to nothingness. Dark and nothing else around. 

Jackson starts breathing slowly, he feels his limbs moving and his chest lifting with every breath. His eyes slowly open, and he turns until he gets on his back. It’s hard to accept the fact that he had a dream about Jaebeom and all of that messy stuff. It’s also hard to believe that both Jinyoung and Yugyeom fell asleep at his place, but it’s not the first time either, so whatever. 

“You alright?”

“Yugy!” Jackson says when he hears Yugyeom’s voice from behind him. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not really. I didn't fall asleep. Jinyoung was snoring, and even if he was on the couch in the next room, I couldn't fall asleep.” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault. Did you have a nightmare or anything?” 

Should Jackson tell him? In the end… Yugyeom is not Jinyoung, neither Sungjin. Yugyeom is the youngest, but also the most sensitive out of the four of them. And, in this context, Jackson thinks of “sensitive” as in emotional intelligence, something Jackson, Sungjin and even Jinyoung lack most of the time. Honestly, Jackson never put it like this, and now he feels smart for figuring out Yugyeom might be a little bit like Jaebeom: the sensitive type, actually giving a shit about emotions and trying to understand them; smart and curious, as well. 

“I wouldn't say it was a nightmare. I dreamt about… uhm… meeting Jaebeom again.” His head falls back and he leans against the mattress and pillows. 

“Oh? The Russian guy with the letters?”

“Yeah…” 

“Weird. What did you dream of him?”

“Him… being stuck behind a wall and when I finally broke the wall and got to him, he started dancing with me. I think I also dreamt about making love with him, but I’m not sure. And I certainly don’t know how to link the wall thing and the part in which we were both naked.” 

As Jackson turns to the side to look at Yugyeom, the younger keeps quiet, on his face a frown, the product of him thinking thoroughly about what Jackson said and about how he described it. Then, Yugyeom fixes his eyes on Jackson’s and asks, out of the blue, “Do you think you might be queer?” 

“Oh, I… don't know. Truth is, I kinda fell in love with him when we were writing to each other, but it was that kind of innocent love — I adored the way he saw things and the way he put his thoughts into words, I guess. I kinda saw him like an idol, like someone I could look up to and learn from. Then I met him in real life and I got really embarrassed because he was… I don't know, I expected him to look nice, but I did not expect him to be that fucking pretty! And he was sitting alone, too, and seemed kinda shy at first and... pff, my heart moved weirdly in my chest.” 

“Jackson…” A mumble, and then a finger pressing on Jackson’s cheek to stop a tear from falling down his neck. “Don’t… cry…”

“ _ Shit,  _ sorry!” This time Jackson wiping his own tears with both of his hands. “I didn't mean to! I don't know what’s gotten into me… It’s not that deep.” 

“It is, if you’re unawarely crying about it.” 

“I’m fucking lame, that is! I’m a loser! Guess I didn't get laid for a while now, that must be it.” 

“Jackson?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t be afraid to admit you might also like some boys. Or that you might not be as much into girls as you think you are. Either way, your feelings are your feelings and they exist to define you. And being different from the majority is fine, we always said that. And… liking another guy doesn't make you any less of a man, you know?” 

“Mm… I never thought of that. I just pictured it as a sin at first, but my brain liked rotting in sin, and to cope with it, I just… dropped this religion thing my family had. Mostly, so I wouldn't feel guilty for having thoughts about sex. So it was never about men or women, it was all about… taboo shit like fucking, cursing, fighting, drinking, smoking, and all that. You kinda know the story about it.” 

“Yeah. Still… Hey, we’re going to have a few shows across Russia and Belarus soon. So maybe you could search for him while we are going to be there.” 

“Search for him? I’m not desperate, Yugy. And the time is too little for how big Russia is.”

“Maybe, but you could try.” 

“I’d do no good. I’d just ruin our plans and our schedule.” 

“But do you think you’d be happy to see him again?”

“Yeah. And then I’ll get sad again because we’ll have to part ways. I guess… me and him are not meant to be even friends or penpals, in the end.” 

With a sad face, Jackson stares at the ceiling to distract himself. He imagines that if he were to have a day with Jaebeom, he would take him from a show and bring him to the beach so they could bury their toes in the warm sand. Then they would wander around the city, under the night sky; the night would be young and they would be the only people ever, walking hand in hand and smiling to each other like they’d be enamoured with each other. Later, they’d fall on Jackson’s bed, caress each other tenderly and make love loudly. In the morning, Jackson’s home would smell of both coffee and tea, and Jaebeom would still sit on his lap though there would be a few empty chairs around. 

With a sigh, Jackson snaps out of it. He finds it lame, daydreaming of such things with a man and not with a woman. Daring to dream about being in love instead of dreaming about doing more mature stuff. 

“I got melancholic due to that dream. I don't like him anymore, it’s dumb.” Jackson mumbles for Yugyeom to hear, his way of washing away his sins. It almost feels like putting his hand on the Bible and swearing on it, then letting go of the certain thought, just like he used to do when he was younger. 

“If you say so…” 

“By the way… before we start with the shows, I think I’ll go visit my parents. I haven't seen them in so long and… I guess I kinda miss home. I guess I still owe them an apology.” 

“Is that so?” 

The way Jackson’s shoulders shift up doesn't automatically mean “I don't know”; it means that maybe he knows it’s winter again, and that he might have a thing Yerin called “seasonal depression”. It also means that weird air Transylvania gathers around itself at the beginning of winter, and maybe, just maybe, Jackson misses all the pagan elements he used to see as a child and teenager. He always found them interesting, but never sat down to take them in because… well, he was raised in a family of Adventists. One of the very few in Transylvania. 

There’s a whole history about the place where he was born, and he regrets turning a blind eye to it. “Don’t make friends with magyar children”, he was told when he was young, and he never understood why. Sure, Hungarians might have reigned over their land and might have planted their own traditions and customs there, and sure, in the little cities around Brasso you barely hear any other language that is not Hungarian. But why the hate when the Romanian children in his class often used to discriminate those from Hungarian families? 

_ Home  _ always meant something Jackson never truly and wholly understood. And he thinks it’s such a shame because his land is by far the most beautiful across the country, the most famous for its castles and legends. Yet it’s so rooted in hate and discrimination that sometimes Jackson can’t stand it. Maybe that’s why he left for the dusty capital, Bucharest, which only gives his mono dreams and a dark grey sky to live under, soviet grey blocks and ghosts in suits bumping into you to get to their shitty jobs on time. Even so, it makes a warmer home, because he has a little family here, a true one. 

“I don't plan to stay. I just want to visit for a few hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I can stop you. When do you want to go?” 

“Tomorrow or maybe the day after tomorrow. Do you think you’d like to come along or something?” 

“Come along… for what?” Yugyeom slips a hand under his head and closes his eyes. Jackson is sorry he asked, but he still didn't process his youngest friend, Yugyeom, selling his parents’ house and buying a modest apartment for himself in the capital with that money. 

“You’re right. Sorry.” 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


Maybe the country might be a religious one overall, but the land of Transylvania is rather one of pagan traditions — be it or not the magyars ruling over it for a while until it became part of Romania. And it did matter a lot for Jackson’s family, a family of Adventists settled on a pagan land. 

Yet Jackson grew with some of those things, though his family raised him to turn a blind eye to them; even as he walks home, he cannot help but hear the drums and see the weird person dressed up like an animal, pretending to be dancing. Though he is twenty-four, they still scare him a little bit, because they are creepy, with the goat man in the middle, and those loud drums. It’s, obviously, called “the goat”, and it’s supposed to bring luck to those who toss a coin to it and let the goat dance for them. Around the goat costume, there are always a few men with drums, and, sometimes, there is also one who shouts some lyrics about the goat. 

_ Dance, our pretty goat, dance/ Or an illness did you catch/ Or wherever have you been/ Only bad is that you’ve seen _ . 

A little bit creepy, talking about illnesses when Christmas is coming, right? But then again, this country has always been weird as hell. 

As Jackson hides his hands in his pockets, he remembers his grandmother telling them this land is cursed forever for having shot their leader on Christmas day, the Lord’s Birthday. Again, extremely unpleasant, so Jackson decides he kind of hates not only Christmas, but the whole winter season. 

The goat looks like a demon, and he can’t take his eyes off of it. It keeps on dancing in the middle of all the chaos, resembling Jackson and the way life is spinning around him. For a few moments, he feels guilty for packing his bags and leaving, for abandoning his family and old life just to find himself. He has been selfish and he knows selfishness is a sin. But as he turns his back on the loud drums and creepy goat man, he blames God again, for making him the way he is, flawed and so hungry for freedom, self-absorbed and disobedient. Yet it’s the way he is, and he won't try to change it; it’s him, the real him, the one he has been searching for, and he is working his hardest to embrace everything about his real self. 

Quite surprising how his mother hugs him in the doorframe, while his earrings and blonde short hair are still under his beanie. His father doesn’t welcome him warmly, but with a strong frown, thick eyebrows almost smashing one into each other. Before he knows it, he is seated on the couch, with a plate of sweet bread in his lap. His mother stands by him, somehow happy that he is here — her small smile does sadden Jackson because if she were to have a happy life without him, she wouldn't have looked so enthusiastic about him being here, after so much time. Either she loves him like a true mother, or she’s no more than a simple woman crying herself to sleep night by night due to not marrying the right man for her, at least that is what Jackson believes. And he kind of hopes it’s the first one though his brain could bet on the second one. For this moment, she sees happiness in her own son, and Jackson might cry in front of his father if the philosophy from his brain doesn't stop immediately. 

“So what are you doing here?” His father makes sure to ask, as if to remind him how he is not welcomed in their home anymore. “Did they kick you out of that embarrassing band of yours and you finally found revelation?”

“No, I just… wanted to visit.” 

“Right. And what do you want from me and your mother?”

“Nothing.” 

Maybe that childish heart of his still flutters a little bit at the thought of his parents finally paying attention to him, even though it’s the negative kind of attention, as if Jackson is rather an enemy and not the child they gave life to. But he understands and he won't cry about it. His parents lived in their small little bubble all of their life and Jackson didn't come here to break it. He just got alienated for jumping out of the bubble and risking everything out of curiosity. While his parents chose the never-ending comfort of the bubble and decided to blame him for not being their little fluffy and white and obedient sheep they didn't even notice when it was getting sick. It’s… hard. But Jackson is a bit more mature now. He has always been, they just never saw it. 

His father won’t talk, he knows. He won't ask about his life, about how he has been. He will forever sit in his place, with the frown engraved in his forehead and the bible next to him, because that’s how his father is. Always have been and will always be. 

“I was just hanging around with Yugyeom and I got melancholic after a deeper conversation. And since we are going to have a few shows in Russia and Belarus soon, I thought I would visit the two of you and see how you are doing. See if you need anything.” 

“We are doing just fine, darling.” The hand of his mother is a bit reticent of caressing his now short hair, but it finally does, gently, a bit timid at first. Then she gets used to it and just pats Jackson lovingly. She is fifteen years too late with that, Jackson thinks, but it’s better late than never, so he lets her. 

“I’m glad! Truly! But if there is anything you need, I am more than happy to buy it for you.” 

“We really don’t need anyt-”

“Your mother is getting old.” Father interrupts, catching Jackson's attention. “It’s hard for her to do everything on her own. So buy her a washing machine. And maybe a few meters of wood, because this winter is harsh and it’s hard for us until the ceramic fireplace heats up.” 

If Jackson remembers well, the last time he visited, about a year and a half ago, his father asked for a new tv set. And even though he gave him some money to buy a new one, Jackson can still see the old one in the room. The rusty and tangled antennas are still there, just how he knows them. 

“Okay.” It’s what he says, because he was going to leave them some money anyway. He takes an envelope out of his jacket and gives it to his mother, who looks at it with teary eyes for some reason. Probably because they never had a lot, or maybe because she was never in charge of the money in the house. Either way, he lets her have the envelope. 

“Jackson… just how much money is in there? Don’t you need this for rent? Or don't you have a girl you want to marry and perhaps you could save it for the wedding?”

“Mom, it’s not a fortune. It’s not even a lot, but if you need more, I’ll send you some more.” For the world Jackson lives in, it’s not a lot; it’s the equivalent of his rent in the capital for two months. But for his mother, who earns the minimum wage, it is kind of a lot. In the end, it’s more than enough for what his dad asked, so Jackson assumes it’s fine though he didn't give them an exuberant amount of money. 

“Jackson, this is already too much… please leave it at a thousand and take the rest back. You’re young, you need it more than us! Don’t you have a girl… to take out?”

“There is someone… in Russia. I… don’t know, I’ll probably visit them if I have the chance, but just that.” 

He ignores the way his father’s face turns because his father must know he is talking about the person who sent him letters when he was still living here. So, since he hates this silence and all the lies and tension in the air, he will just say it for once, out loud. In front of his parents. And he is going to feel good about it. 

“The  _ girl  _ from Russia whom I used to write letters to. The ballerina. She only came here once, to audition for a College, and she got in, but had to give up her spot due to an injury. I only saw her for… about one hour in my whole life, but she still has a little spot in my heart, even after so much time.” He shakes his shoulders and decides it’s enough. 

And he knows Jaebeom is not a girl, but he just gave himself the confirmation he needed: he still feels something strongly towards a man. It has been hard for him to swallow this one little thing, so he reduced his words to turning his beautiful Jaebeom into a girl in front of his parents: they would freak out if they were to hear their son likes a man, so the letters in Russian can remain “from a girl” in front of his parents’ eyes. They can also stay as just a bunch of soul pieces for Jackson, genderless and timeless, only emotion and the scent of flowers. For some reason, he smiles bitterly when he thinks about the autumnal pressed flowers. 

“Maybe I should get going.” In the end, he didn't come here to talk about his feelings. He just wanted to give the money to his parents and leave, because it felt like something he had to do, as a son. Not as a good son, because he was never one. 

There’s something in the way his mother hugs him. An unspoken apology she will never manage to word out due to his father's piercing eyes on the both of them. 

Jackson takes it anyway and though it’s uncomfortable, he waits for his mother to pack him some sweet bread so he’ll have what to eat on the train. His father hates every second of it, but at least he stays silent about his mother being too good to him. 

“This foreign ballerina must have twisted your mind ever since you were a teenager.” He says instead, in a low tone. “You’re like this because of her. And you don't even have her close, she’s just a ghost. If only you were to marry her and settle down, have kids, but you won’t because she’s… just a fraud.” 

Jackson never asked to hear that, though his father might be a little bit right in all of his condemning words. Yet, “the ballerina” is not the devil his father thinks “she” is in this story. “She” taught Jackson happiness and gave him a simple reason for what the meaning of life was. “She” gave Jackson the attention and encouragement he needed as a child when his parents didn’t. “She” was kind enough to slice her soul open and give Jackson a piece, because “she” simply understood how lonely and desperate Jackson felt. But Jackson won't tell that to his father, who will never understand those things. 

“You’re right.” Jackson mumbles, and though his tone doesn't show the irony, it’s there. He just can’t talk in an ironic tone to his father. 

“Fool.” 

Jackson keeps the word in mind. Writes it down in big letters in the upper center of the page, in his notebook while he is on the train, on his way  _ home _ . He scribbles down a story about a ballerina who sent him a piece of her soul when they were younger, and about how his father called him a fool for going into the world to find her and give her a piece of his own soul. Puts the little story into lyrics and it gets a bit too personal as he adds the details. 

Later on, he finds it all funny how it’s always the train station. Everything he loves — writing songs, silence, staring out the window and his fantasy of lifting Jaebeom up in the train station, holding him tight and kissing him. But also everything he hates — crying children, old people staring, rusty metal, schedules and boredom. He always finds them in the train or in the train station somehow, and perhaps it’s not all that bad as he thinks it is. 

  
  
  


———

  
  
  


He never showed Sungjin or Jinyoung the song he titled “Fool” because he found it overwhelmingly personal, so he ended up keeping it in his agenda. For a while he forgot about it and only got reminded of it as he found himself standing in the train station, in a very unfortunate situation, yet with a tired grin on his face. 

The guitar case is heavy in his back, and he is really unlucky for having been forgotten by the others in Belarus, after their show, but shit happens sometimes and they’ll laugh about this in the near future. Jackson is actually thankful for having a train to Moscow, though it’s a ten-hour-ride. He didn't think too much before buying the ticket, because by car, with the boys and the manager, it was almost the same thing, only less lonely. 

Funny how he is, once again, in this place he learned to find comfort into. People coming and going, unknown faces, diversity. He might like train rides and train stations despite them always being lonely experiences for him. At least he has the chance of seeing this diversity and of getting inspired and writing better songs. And this time, he has plenty of time to do so. 

This time, he finds a seat and feels all the energy leaving his body. As he turns his head, he gets sleepy, so he just places his guitar case on the empty seat next to him for once. Mostly because he wants to take a nap and won't like someone noisy sitting next to him. 

Something in Belarusian is being announced and Jackson only understands something about a delay of the schedule, due to the snow. Fucking great, he believes, but at least he has time to sleep for as much as he likes. Even so, he can’t fall asleep. It’s still too noisy around, with all the people finding places for their luggage. Until it quiets down, Jackson turns his head and looks around, hands crossed at the level of his chest and eyes pretty curious about why there are so many people in the train at such a late hour. 

He yawns. A middle-aged couple sits on the other side and the woman eyes Jackson quickly before sitting down. An old man with an old-fashioned suitcase coming from the other side, and someone coming from the opposite side getting hit by Jackson’s guitar case as the old man goes further. Jackson sees a black long coat before getting up to collect his guitar case. 

“I’m terribly sorry.” Jackson feels his heart shattering into millions of pieces as he reaches for his guitar case and sees in front of him someone way too similar to Jaebeom. 

He doesn't believe it and doesn't want to believe it. But the small black pins hidden in the dark hair and the twin moles painted so softly under an eyebrow beg to differ. It’s all too real and Jackson doesn't know how to react when his stomach sinks like this. And though he feels himself shaking, he knows he can’t afford letting Jaebeom slip between his fingers. It’s his second chance he told Sungjin about and he can’t just not take it and consume it greedily. 

“This seat is not taken.” Jackson blurts out, the sound of him speaking in Russian pretty disturbing to his ear. “You can stay, if you want. Or, if you want the window seat… all yours.” 

“Thanks… it’s pretty full, so… is it fine if I sit at the window?” 

“Sure.” 

Jackson gulps as he watches Jaebeom taking the seat he already warmed up. Judging by him not even taking his coat off, he is either cold, or getting off the train before Jackson. Either way, at least Jackson has him cornered between himself and the window, and whatever he will do or say, he won't let Jaebeom run away. He can’t. Not right now, when his body is going insane on the inside and when he has the words “I’m in love with you” sitting at the tip of his tongue, ready for… someone who doesn't even recognize him. 

Or… no. Jaebeom does recognize him by the way his dark and glossy eyes are staring, but he doesn't say it. It almost reminds Jackson of his poor mother not being able to voice out a few words in front of his father; it’s the same restricted look that holds words back. And perhaps Jackson's heart breaks at the thought of Jaebeom believing Jackson is the one who doesn't remember him. 

“I’ve missed you…” Jackson whispers and it’s enough to break the both of them into pieces. He finally understands how fragile their past is, and lets regret fill his soul as he feels guilty for being the one to interrupt their only way of keeping in touch. 

And after that, he even has the audacity to say “I’ve missed you” to someone who could have become a total stranger in the span of the almost three years in which Jackson didn't reply to Jaebeom's last letter. 

More than that, the unsure look Jaebeom gives him could bring Jackson to his knees. Then Jaebeom gulps and shies out before being able to open his mouth, and there really is no other mouth in this whole world Jackson would like to kiss more than he wants to kiss Jaebeom's silent one. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can always find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/prdsnabi) and [cc](https://t.co/RbVFVBcpfd?amp=1) :D


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